Orphan of Autumn

by Amelia-Rose Tighe

Hoglet lay swaddled in a knitted sweater,
His eyes swimming in maggots never opened,
His skin littered with ticks; death was for the better,
I found his body forlorn, his corpse broken.

I carried him home not repulsed but grievous,
I removed his ticks, I bathed his eyes,
Save the orphaned hoglet, I must, I must.
I will never unhear the creatures cries.

The maggots infiltrated his feeble anatomy,
They consumed him from the inside out,
His screams grew louder, yet euthanasia was imfamy,
Each cry hollowed my heart, refilling with distress and doubt.

I watched him till his breaths grew shorter, his death was no shock.
He lays in his cardboard kingdom now, his resting place marked with a rock.